The Madness of His Blood
by Nellark
Summary: The Tormentor, The Collector and The Watcher. The daughters of The House of Black are strange creatures, it is clear. But when faced with arranged marriage, forbidden love and total alienation, the madness of the House of Black will surely be made manifest. "The Madness of His Blood" tells the tale of the two years at Hogwarts where the House of Black turned sour. ABxTT / BBxRL
1. Prologue: The Black Death

_A.N.- Thank you for picking my story to read. This prologue is set a few years before the events of the rest of the story. _

**Buckinghamshire, 1959**

Hidden miles from anything living, concealed under a dozen charms, was a manor house so old, so vast and so enviable, that the owners of the house were the most hated family in the Wizarding world.

The manor house loomed ominously over its sprawling front lawn, where the setting sun cast an enormous black shadow of the house over the small groups of families and acquaintances who were walking up the long gravel path towards the front door.

Upon entering Black Manor, Fidelia Lestrange found it hard to conceal her envy.

It was ironic, really, that Fidelia was so jealous. All around her, where she stood in the spooky old entrance hall, women were looking at her and scowling. She was beautiful by anyone's standards: tall and slim with long golden hair, a mask of superiority, an expensive dress and a rich husband. But to Fidelia Lestrange, power was not in beauty in the real world. Power was in money. Money made the world go round. Money got people from A to B and B to Z. The Black family had more money than any other family in the country.

Fidelia stood on her own, staring up at a painting while she waited for her husband to catch up with her. The picture itself was a morbid tribute to a recently deceased member of the Black household. In the picture, the man stood tall, proud and alive in a black cloak, clutching a black cane with a pure silver handle in the shape of a snake's head. In front of Fidelia, a house elf was just finishing off sealing the plaque at the bottom of the enormous painting.

_Pollux Phineas Black_

_1880-1962_

_Tourjours Pur, Ne lâche._

"Fidelia..." wheezed a man's voice from behind her. "There... you are..."

Fidelia did not turn round. She knew that the breathless man was her worthless husband. The sound of his voice and the stench of whisky and sweat made it clear enough that it was him.

She continued staring at the painting. "Where have you been?" she asked him.

Her husband panted a little more before gulping. "Running round the grounds like a bloody madman. I found the boys without your help. I'm fine, too, thank you for asking."

Fidelia said nothing.

Her husband came to stand beside her, facing the painting. He wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his cloak, then leaned forward to read the inscription on the gold plaque.

"_Tourjours Pur_..." he read loudly, causing others nearby to turn around. "Mmm. Fitting. Good choice."

Fidelia shook her head subtly. "No. It's too predictable."

Her husband spun round with an expression of manic alarm on his purple face. "Keep your voice _down_, woman!" he hissed. "We are at a funeral! A _Black _family funeral!"

Fidelia gave her husband a pointed look. "Take a look around you, Claudius. How many of these people do you think actually liked the man?"

"That's not the point," Claudius growled. "Now hold your tongue or I shall silence you."

Fidelia laughed loudly, cruelly, then turned away from him in search of the widow. She wouldn't be hard to find. Several funeral-goers kept leaning out from their small social circles to peer into the doors to the drawing room, from which no noise was emitted.

"What does the other bit mean, then?" asked Claudius.

"Hmm?"

"After the _Tourjours Pur _bit. What's that supposed to mean?"

Fidelia turned back round to the painting and read the plaque again.

_" Ne lâche. _Never weak."

Her husband tutted.

"We need to talk to Irma Black," Fidelia told him, returning her gaze to the silent drawing room.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's polite."

Claudius scoffed.

Fidelia looked down at the two young boys stood side-by-side next to Claudius. She allowed herself an internal smile. There was a group of children screaming and running around in another room. Her boys were not so badly behaved.

"Go and play with the other children, my darlings. Father and I will only be a minute."

The two boys looked at each other and frowned, but marched off in the direction of the squealing nonetheless.

Fidelia and Claudius walked sombrely through the guests, shuffling between dense groups of people until they finally came through to the drawing room. Fidelia could not have been more pleased to leave the miserable hallway. Even in the drawing room, where the dead man's family sat huddled together in their fake grief, were a brighter sight than the gaggles of gossiping families from poorer families and more remote corners of the country.

The drawing room was gloomy, yes, but elegant. The oak-panelled walls, the velvet armchairs and the grand piano were reminiscent of the sort of home Fidelia wished she'd owned. If only they had the money, the connections...

Irma Black was easy to spot. She was sat in a plush armchair at the top of the long hall-like room, flanked by standing members of her family. She was an old woman. Wrinkled and white-haired but not withered. She was not crying. She hadn't cried at the funeral, either. A dab of the handkerchief here and there, perhaps, but nothing more.

Fidelia approached the widow, followed by her husband. As she came closer, she noticed the sleek black cane that Irma gripped. It was the same snake-handled cane that her dead husband was grasping in the painting.

"Madam Black," Fidelia curtseyed. "We're very sorry for your loss. Your husband was a fine wizard."

"Oh, my dear, don't be sorry," Irma pardoned. "Pollux had been praying for death for nigh-on five years. His death is a relief to us all."

Fidelia blinked. "Well, then. At least he's at peace now."

"Indeed," Irma nodded. "I thank you for attending. Claudius, it's been too long."

Fidelia felt her cheeks grow hot as her husband side-stepped her to speak to the widow.

"It has indeed, Madam, but the fault is entirely mine."

"I know."

Claudius fell silent, turned red, then stepped back again. Fidelia straightened her back.

"This must be your radiant wife. Fidolia, is it?"

Fidelia managed a broad smile. "Fidelia, Madam."

"Ah, yes..." Irma Black mused, looked up and down at Fidelia. "Pretty young thing..."

Suddenly, from another room, the sound of a screaming child pierced the ears of everyone at the wake. It did not sound like either of Fidelia's boys. She watched Irma and her family for reactions; clued to whose child it might be. She saw Irma roll her eyes.

"_Cygnus..._," Irma drawled. One of the men beside her, the taller one whom Fidelia remembered had walked beside the floating coffin at the burial earlier, leaned down to listen to Irma.

"Please get those children under control. It's ungainly for girls to lark about at their grandfather's funeral."

Cygnus Black, whose ashen face and dust-coloured hair portrayed him as the most miserable man in existence, nodded curtly to his mother. He stood up straight again, and glanced to his right, where a young woman with black hair stood demurely.

"Deal with them," he ordered her in a low voice. Fidelia raised her eyebrows. However, instead of the young woman scowling at her husband and stalking off, she merely bowed her head and slinked away.

"_Grandchildren_..." Irma tutted, distracting Fidelia and Claudius from the minor drama. "They're an inconvenience at the best of times. Do you have children, Mrs Lestrange?"

"Yes," Fidelia smiled politely. "Twin boys. Eight years old."

Irma's eyes brightened. "Eight, you say?"

Fidelia nodded.

Irma sat back in her chair. "Interesting..."

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

Funerals were boring. They were not sad, they were not gory, there were no dead bodies to see. Funerals were day-long commitments to uncomfortable clothes, depressing speeches and men showing off with magic before the dead person was gone forever. The funeral that morning had been just the same. Only now, things were starting to look interesting.

Their mother had sent them to play with the Black children. They'd overheard their parents talking about the Black children several times, calling them 'terrors' and 'brats'. Rodolphus had thought it strange that their mother should allow them to play with such children. But as soon as he and his brother had locked eyes with the girls, the adventure had begun. Perhaps this was why their mother sent them here.

"Want to see a dead person?" the black-haired girl had asked them. "There's a real corpse in the cellar."

They could not resist.

Their house was massive. They followed the girl through countless cold and empty rooms, followed by two younger girls, one of which clutched a baby. Wherever the black-haired girl lead them, house elves cowered away from them, shrinking into corners or throwing themselves flat against walls.

There had been a house elf guarding the door to the cellars. He'd dared to forbid them from going in, claiming that there was expensive wines down there that the master wanted no-one to touch. To Rodolphus' shock, the black-haired girl had simply grabbed the house elf by his ear and flung him out of the way.

"You're mean," Rodolphus had said to her as she opened the door to the cellars. The girl had merely shrugged. The other two had stayed silent.

They descended some stone steps into the freezing cold and damp cellars, with only a few lit candles guiding the way. They passed barrels of wine, old broomsticks, and rows upon rows of jars containing eerie-looking objects.

"What's in the jars?" Rodolphus' brother, Rabastan, had asked the girl.

The girl had turned round and grinned at them. "The entrails of our enemies."

Rabastan's eyes widened in horror. Rodolphus pushed him forward, determined not to let his twin embarrass him.

At the end of the cellar, Rodolphus saw something that made him tremble. A long box, perhaps six foot long, sat on a stone slab.

This was where the black-haired girl stopped walking. She turned to address the boys and her sisters.

"You two were at my Grandfather's funeral," the girl stated. "Describe the burial. What did you see?"

Rodolphus looked between the girl and his brother with uncertainty. "Er... some men cast some charms on the coffin and... then...lowered it into the-"

"No, no... what did you _see_?"

Rodolphus swallowed. "I don't understand the question."

The girl took a step towards the boys. "Did you see the body?"

"We saw the coffin..."

"But did you see the _body_? The _corpse_?"

Behind them, one of the girls whimpered. It made Rodolphus shiver.

He gulped. "No..."

The girl grinned. "That's because there _was _no body. It was all staged. My family don't bury their dead. They preserve them."

The whimpering girl started to cry. "I want my mummy..." she sobbed. The other girl looked from the little girl to the black-haired one.

"Bella, you're scaring Cissy. Come on, let's go back upstairs..."

"_Cry-babies_," the girl, Bella, hissed at them. She turned back to the boys and smiled. "My family are waiting for a miracle. That's what Daddy says. Until then... we keep our dead safe... down _here_."

"MUMMY!" screamed the little girl.

Bella glared at her. "Shut up!" she growled.

Rabastan, like the little girl, was shaking. "So... what's... what's in that box?" he whimpered, pointing to the long box before them.

Bella laughed lowly. "You want to see?"

Rodolphus' heart skipped a beat. He and Rabastan started to walk backwards while the girl faced the box.

"Oh, _Grandfather_? Come out, come out, come out of the box! Say hello!"

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

The screaming of the child continued. Fidelia was the first to move, quickly slipping between the guests in the drawing room, out into the hall, where the screaming was louder. No sooner had Fidelia crossed the room to the door through which the children had left, her sons came running back into the hall. They were covered in dust and cobwebs, their faces white. Rabastan was wailing and screaming in such a high-pitched voice that some of the guests were laughing.

"Boys!" Fidelia exclaimed. "What, in the name of Merlin, do you think you're playing at?"

Rabastan was too hysterical to answer. Rodolphus, who looked ill, stepped closer to her. "We want to go home," he whispered. "Please, Mummy, please can we go home?"

"Of course we can't, this is a funeral," she replied, but looking around at the amused guests made her wish for the ground to swallow her up.

"_Please_, Mummy, we're scared!" Tears formed in her son's eyes. He lunged, and gripped her legs. There was more laughter from guests. Fidelia turned and glared at the loudest of them, quickly silencing them.

"Rodolphus, let go. You're being silly," she prised her son off her skirts. She then turned to Rabastan, who was still screaming, and grabbed his shoulders. "Pull yourself together, Rabastan. Come on..." but he continued to scream. She shook him. "Stop _screaming_!"

Around her, there was not a single guest who wasn't at least chuckling. That was, until, Fidelia's husband crashed into the hallway, barged through the crowds and stared furiously at his sons. He grabbed the smallest one, the screamer, and hauled him up by the collar to his eye level.

"Stop screaming," Claudius Lestrange growled. "Talk, or it's a silencing charm for you."

Rabastan stopped screaming immediately. He hiccupped and panted, still crying, but still managing to talk. "There's a zombie in the cellar! It was Mr Black! He's come back to life! He's in the cellar!"

Fidelia expected the guests to be in hysterics. They weren't. They were scandalised. She saw their faces and felt very faint. "Claudius, we're leaving."

"Too right we are," he replied. "You, boy, have embarrassed us all..."

Claudius continued to berate his son while Fidelia took Rodolphus' hand and steered him towards the front door. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of the corridor down which her sons had been lead away earlier. At the other end of it, far away from the gathered guests, was Druella Black. She was kneeling in front of the three Black girls, gripping the shoulders of the brown-haired one, talking angrily at her. The little one was crying into her teddy bear. The oldest one, with black hair, was watching her mother with smug enjoyment which only escalated when Druella slapped her daughter across the face.

"I don't like it here, Mummy," Rodolphus whimpered. "I don't want to ever come back."

"Me neither, my darling," said Fidelia vaguely. "But some things have got to be done."

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_A.N- Thankyou for reading. The next chapter starts when Bellatrix is in sixth year, Andromeda is in fifth year and Narcissa is in first._

_Please review, follow and favourite._

_N x_


	2. A Child, A Perfect Child

22nd August 1968

Druella Lestrange stood at the window of the parlour, watching the rain cascade down the glass, blurring the view of the moors beyond the garden walls. She hated the rain. It reminded her of her wedding day, when the weather was so torrential that not even the most powerful umbrella charms could protect them from it. Downpours were designed to torment Druella. They cleared the world of people, finally offering her the chance of peace, but the showers were stifling and claustrophobic. At every chance of solitude in the outside world, Druella was shut away in the dry. It made her ache.

And yet, watching the clear cold water stream down the window pane, Druella was calm. Cleanliness and clarity made her bones feel hollow and light, and her mind was rid of the messy storms that plagued her every day. She felt pure.

"Have you read this?" asked a stony voice from the sofas.

"No, my love," Druella replied, knowing that her husband was reading the _Daily Prophet._

"Hogwarts are receiving a thirty nine percent muggle-born entry and a twenty percent half-blood entry this year."

Narcissa's first year. Druella's tranquility was gone. She could picture her daughter's Sorting: she would be stood surrounded by dirt and filth, itching to be called, to escape the mess and be sent to the pure children, where she belonged. Narcissa had only turned eleven that day. She would not be able to cope.

"Poor girl..." commented Druella.

"It's disgusting," Cygnus spat. "By the time my sister's boys are in Hogwarts, they'll be the only ones in Slytherin."

"I'm sure that won't be the case," said Druella vaguely, still staring out the window.

"I was exaggerating, woman."

Above them, Druella could hear footsteps. Three pairs, to be precise, running around Narcissa's bedroom. The girls were laughing.

"Then again..." Cygnus continued. "Orion is concerned."

Druella tried not to grimace. Her sister-in-law's husband was one of the least tolerable men she'd ever met. Even then, she preferred him to his wife.

"Is he?"

"Understandably. There are so few purebloods left. This may be our only chance to continue the line of Black..."

Druella knew he was glaring at her. She no longer felt ashamed when he did. The prospect of providing Cygnus with son was long gone, as was the prospect of the House of Black lineage continuing directly from them.

"But as my fortune goes to the older one," continued Cygnus. "I must encourage his matrimony to a pure Slytherin."

"Our daughters may give us grandsons, Husband."

"Irrelevant, I regret to say, unless a son is born to one of them before I am dead," he said miserably." But like I said, there are so few purebloods left."

Druella's calm had vanished. She was sure it would not come back. Not until Cygnus saw a grandson. Not until she saw _her _fortune go to _her _child, not the brat of her husband's sour hag of a sister.

Above them, the girls had started cackling.

"Deal with them, Druella," Cygnus ordered. "You know I can't abide girlish shrieking."

Druella ground her teeth and removed herself from the window. As she walked through the door to the hallway and began ascending the stairs, she thought about what she always thought about when she left her husband alone in a room: how easy it would be to cast a spell through the door hinge. Cygnus always sat right in the would-be firing line. He would see her. Druella was a dab hand at silent spells. But he would know it was her. Everyone would know it was her.

When Druella reached the landing, she could hear the girls begin to chant.

"_Gryffindor, Gryffindor, they've never had a Black before_!"

"I won't be in Gryffindor! I _won't_!"

"_Slytherin, Slytherin, they'll never let Narcissa in!_"

Druella opened the door. The girls immediately stopped running and stared guiltily at her. She glared at them. "What is the meaning of this ridiculous behaviour?" she asked calmly.

Bellatrix, her oldest, grinned. "Look what arrived for Cissy today, Mother," she held out a piece of parchment. Druella took it and read it over.

_Dear Miss Black, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at-_

"Good," said Druella. She didn't need to read the rest. "We need to buy your supplies. Where's your list?"

The girls remained silent. They didn't move. Druella rolled her eyes. "Where is it?"

Andromeda turned round and picked up something from the writing desk behind her. She tentatively held it out towards her mother, who grabbed it. She scanned it. It was Narcissa's list of requirements, with a huge rip down the middle.

"Which one of you did this?" Druella demanded.

"It was her," answered Bellatrix, pointing at Andromeda. Andromeda's jaw dropped.

"No, it wasn't! It was Bella!"

"You lying bitch!"

Druella immediately whipped out her wand. One flick in Bellatrix's direction, and she could no longer talk. Another flick in Andromeda's direction, and her hands were stuck to her sides.

"That's for using foul language," she told Bellatrix, who was going red with fury. Her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish, her voice temporarily gone. Druella turned to Andromeda. "And _that's _for ripping Narcissa's letter."

"But it wasn't me!"

"Get your hooded cloak, Narcissa, it's raining. You two are staying here."

"But what about our new books?!" cried Andromeda.

"I'll buy them for you. Who knows, maybe I'll save some money and buy second hand copies."

Bellatrix and Andromeda looked horrified. Druella could only stare at them, at their faces, at their pretty eyes and long hair. Cygnus' words echoed in her mind and pained her. _There are so few purebloods left_. Had they not advertised their daughters enough for them to be coveted by the great pureblood Houses? Had any of them paid any notice? Or did Druella have to try again?

"The three of you..." Druella spoke softly. "You are childish, my loves. Act your age, or you will be deeply disappointed with life when you are forced into adulthood."

Andromeda looked confused and worried, but Druella was more interested in Bellatrix. She was watching Druella with anticipation, as though she would pounce on her at any moment. It unnerved her.

"Come, Narcissa," she said, eager to leave.

They walked to Druella's bedroom, which had the nearest fireplace in. "I'll go first," said Druella. "You're too young to be in Knockturn Alley without me."

"Mother..." began Narcissa cautiously. "You didn't bind Bella's arms."

"No, I didn't. I cast a silencing charm instead."

"She'll kill Andromeda when we're gone."

"It serves Andromeda right for ripping your letter, darling."

"But..." Narcissa paused.

Druella narrowed her eyes. "Did Bellatrix rip your letter?"

Narcissa gulped. She glanced down the hallway to her bedroom, where Bellatrix and Andromeda were still making no noise.

"No, Mother," said Narcissa, looking at the floor.

They arrived in Knockturn Alley and walked in silence, both of them thinking of the two girls they'd left behind. Bellatrix, surely beating her constricted sister to a pulp, was the most important piece in the game they were about to play. But she was a child. A stubborn child. Druella would need help from the most formidable source.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

31st August 1968

Irma Black arrived within an hour of Druella's owl.

A house elf showed her to the parlour, despite her knowing her way around the house better than Druella herself.

"Thank you for coming, Irma," said Druella when the house elf squeakily announced the guest's arrival. "I can think of no better aid in times such as these."

"Think nothing of it," said Irma, waving her hand in dismissal. "It is not a laborious call of duty if it concerns family. Now, elf, let us have some lemon tea."

Irma Black was a terrifying woman: old, cold and wise, yet still glamorous and powerful through the scrupulous connections of the House of Black. She refused to accept anything in her life other than tradition, wealth and decorum. Subconsciously, too, she filled her world with hypocrisy. For example, she claimed to be intolerant of scandal and would downright forbid any decision-making in the family that would lead to any undesirable reputations. Career paths must be approved by her, as were marriages and even new friendship circles. At the same time, however, she would leap at the chance to hear of the latest downfall of an acquaintance. Even in her old age, she seemed to get a thrill from being the source of all gossip and would hold back her information until she had people squirming at her feet. Such a woman was not well thought of by the likes of Druella, but never the less, she was useful.

"Now tell me," Irma began. "Which of your girls concerns you the most?"

"Um, I suppose the older two. It's only recently that I've started to notice their... age. Cygnus, too, is thinking of our legacy now that the girls are maturing."

Irma nodded. "I understand. I confess, when I received your owl, I was conflicted. I'm aware that if I refused to help you, the money that my son would inherit upon my death would default to my grandsons on _his _death. As a fellow Black, surely you can see why I would want my money to end up there."

Druella swallowed. "Yes... I suppose so." This was a classic Irma Black feat: a person asks for help, you make them desperate. You have them entirely in your power. Druella would be spitting blood if she hadn't already been under Irma's thumb for the past twenty years.

"Nevertheless, it is my son's happiness I am concerned with now. My daughter can make do with her boys. Cygnus has nothing."

It was now that Druella remembered why she invited Irma round so little. She was horrible.

"I'm not sure I would call three daughters 'nothing', Irma,"

"You wouldn't? I would."

Silence fell between them as they sized each other up. Irma would be intolerable, but tolerate her, Druella must.

"So," Irma began again. "We should start with the trickiest one. Which of your daughters is that?"

Again, Druella did not speak. She was their mother. She was not allowed to answer questions like that.

Irma smirked at Druella's silence. "Come now, dear, we both know the answer to that question so let's admit it to ourselves so that we may move forward."

Druella internally cursed herself. "Bellatrix is... a challenge."

Irma nodded knowingly.

"She's..." _Angry. Manipulative. Cruel. _"Stubborn."

"Yes... yes..." murmured Irma, thinking. "Unfortunately for Bellatrix, the only hope of marriage for a stubborn girl is a desperate boy. If Bellatrix is unappealing, we need someone who's son is equally tricky to place. The Malfoys would never agree to it, which is a shame. The Goyles would not accept it either. There are the Zabinis, I suppose. They could do with some money. Or the Lestranges... they have _two _boys. They're about as unpopular as ringworm, but they're fairly well-off. Strict purebloods. That's just what we need."

The reality of what she was doing hit her like a ton of bricks. She leapt to her feet, only to knock the house elf flying, causing the tray of tea to spill everywhere.

"S-s-so sorry, Mistress!" squeaked the house elf.

"Stupid creature," muttered Irma. "Go and make some more and don't sneak around."

"Yes, Mistress!" The house elf scooped up the tray and shattered glass and scurried away.

Irma pulled out her wand and pointed it at the spilt tea. "_Tergeo_," she said, and the spillage was washed away. "Now, back to-"

"Irma..." Druella interjected. "Perhaps it is a bit too soon to be arranging a marriage for the girls. Maybe we should wait until-"

"Until they are too independent?" Irma snapped. "Until they have eloped with a shopkeeper's boy? Until after Cygnus is dead? Druella, please tell me you are not suggesting that we risk Cygnus' family line for the sake of a few more years of infantile behaviour."

Druella gulped. "I suppose... I suppose it would do Bella some good to grow up..."

"Get her."

"...Sorry?"

"Bellatrix. Bring her to me."

Druella did as she was told. She opened the French doors and called Bellatrix in, all the while wishing Irma was dead. But she had to remind herself of the cause. _Tourjours Pur, Tourjours Pur, Tourjours Pur_.

Bellatrix came in from the garden and Druella cringed. She was wearing the most child-like red button-up dress she could have possibly picked, with clunky black boots and plaited hair.

"Grandmother," greeted Bellatrix, looking as happy as a dead cat. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Likewise, my dear girl. Now, stand still,"

Bellatrix shot her mother a bewildered glance as Irma held her spectacles to her face and looked her up and down.

"The Lestrange boys," said Irma inexplicably to Bellatrix.

"What of them?"

"I'd like you to introduce yourselves to them."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "I've already met them. I think they're repulsive."

Druella glowered at her daughter, who avoided looking at her.

"Their exterior characters aside, I would like you to become better acquainted with them."

"I will do no such thing!"

Druella, sensing Irma's shock at Bellatrix's lack of respect, caused a surge of anger to course through Druella. "BELLATRIX!" she shouted, rising from her seat. "How _dare_ you defy your grandmother. Have you no respect? No shame?"

"I have no respect for the Lestrange boys, Mother, and I have no shame in saying so."

Irma was reading Druella's mothering skills through Bellatrix's behaviour, Druella could tell. With every defiance, Irma would be more and more disapproving. "You attention-seeking little madam!" Druella spat, seething with more and more anger and mortification with every second that passed in which Bellatrix looked unmoved by her mother's insults. Irma suddenly rose from her seat with unnerving calmness and strode over to Bellatrix.

"You will become acquainted with the Lestrange boys and make them believe that you are interested in either one of them. If you care for your own happiness and for the future of this great family, you will do as I ask. I will write to Mrs Lestrange before the Christmas holidays, enquiring about a visit from either boy. If I get a refusal, you shall be severely punished. I can assure you of that."

Bellatrix would have appeared unmoved once again to a casual observer, even perhaps to Irma herself. But to Druella, she could see anger building within Bellatrix by the slightest twitch of her set jaw. Druella hid her ominous expression with a sip of tea as Bellatrix stormed off upstairs.

"You're to take her to Knockturn Alley. Today. That dress is far too unflattering. She must look sophisticated and well-groomed if she is to make an impression among the more favourable wizarding families."

Irma reached for her cane that had been resting beside her chair. She was preparing to leave.

"Irma," began Druella nervously. "The girls are leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow morning. I doubt there'll be time for-"

"Then you'll have to make time," Irma growled. Druella almost felt winded by her words. Her glower was nothing new, but speared Druella to ground none-the-less. Irma strode back through the house, the stabbing noises of her cane on the ground echoing around the cold house.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_A/N.- Thankyou for reading. _

_The rest of the story will focus predominantly on Bellatrix and Andromeda. We will revisit Druella occasionally, of course._

_Please review, follow and favourite,_

_N x_


	3. Tables

**1st September 1968**

"Black, Narcissa!" squawked Professor McGonagall.

Bellatrix Black half stood to watch her youngest sister walk through the rest of the first years to the stool. The Slytherin table had fallen silent, and were watching closely.

"She's shorter than the others," whispered Andromeda, who sat opposite Bellatrix and had turned in her seat to watch.

"Quiet, sister."

"Merlin, she's so _young._ They all are..."

"They're all eleven, Andromeda, now _shush_,"

They watched McGonagall place the Sorting Hat on their sister's head. The hat hesitated for a second or two, assumingly because Cissy was screaming at it to sort her properly. "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table erupted into applause at the same time as Bellatrix Black cheered unashamedly for her Cissy, whose last name and definitive Sorting had commanded even more interest from the rest of the school. But Bellatrix cared nothing for the opinions of the other three Houses.

Bellatrix was clever. She'd paid attention to the countless family discussions about the other houses at Hogwarts. Hufflepuff were meek and weedy in their beliefs. They'd tolerate trolls and centaurs as students if it meant they avoided being burned at the stake. Ravenclaw were where the unambitious fell. What was knowledge without the will to practice it? It was bone idleness, that's what. Personal gain for the sake of personal gain and gloating. And Gryffindor! They were down-right disrespectful in their views. _The Brave At Heart._The brave ones who would argue with the Slytherins for their beliefs on the worth of blood status meant that they devoted their lives to proving the Slytherins to be slimy and prejudiced.

There was nothing prejudiced about the Slytherin house that Bellatrix knew. People seemed to confuse prejudice with morality. The other houses were far too forgiving.

Next to Bellatrix sat Jesper Goyle, her childhood friend.

"Welcome to Slytherin, Narcissa," greeted Jesper. Cissy smiled bashfully at her House, many of whom were craning to get a glimpse of the third Slytherin Black. A sense of pride filled Bellatrix as Cissy received admiring looks and words of congratulations.

"Sit beside me, Cissy!" hissed Bellatrix, grabbing her sister's wrist and pulling her round to sit between her and Jesper.

"I was so nervous..." whispered Cissy as the next first year's name was called.

"Rubbish. You knew perfectly well you'd end up here," despite her harsh words, Bellatrix gave her sister a brief one-armed squeeze round the shoulders. Cissy looked delighted.

Bellatrix's attention returned to the Sorting. The blonde boy who'd come after Cissy leapt from the stool and ran to the Gryffindor table. He excitedly slid in a prepared space between some smug little fifth year girl and Fabian Prewett. It was then that Bellatrix noticed the Prewett twins glaring at her.

"What's _their_problem?" Bellatrix huffed, pointing them out her friends around them. Several of them turned around and glared back at the Gryffindor table.

"The Prewetts are Gryffindors, poor, blood traitors and as thick and ugly as inbred trolls. Their problem is themselves," droned another of Bellatrix's circle, Iago Greengrass. His comment received a low rumbling of chuckling and agreement.

"They're offending my eyesight. WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?!" she shouted, standing up. Dozens more people turned round to stare at her. At the front, a teacher shushed her.

"Bellatrix," Andromeda warned, sounding embarrassed. Cissy tugged on her sister's robes, pulling her back down.

"Head-cases," tutted Bellatrix, straightening her robes.

"Or maybe," began Andromeda, "It has something to do with what you did earlier on the train?"

"Which was?" asked Bellatrix, unamused.

"You called Molly a 'fat little gerbil'".

"Molly? Who's Molly?"

"_You two_," hissed someone from the front. Bellatrix and Andromeda peered down the table. Professor Creedence, the weedy blonde woman responsible for Muggle Studies, pressed a finger to her lips to silence them. She wore a midnight blue dress suit with a wicker hat adorned with pink roses.

"Tasteless mudblood..." muttered Bellatrix as Professor Creedence returned to the teachers' table, eliciting chuckles from Jesper and Iago.

When Professor Creedence was safely distracted by the Sorting, Bellatrix leaned forward. "Carry on, then,"

"_What_?" hissed Andromeda.

"You were telling me why the Prewetts are snarling at me."

"Shut up, we'll get in trouble." Andromeda turned away, focusing on the Sorting. Bellatrix waited. Andromeda did not turn back round.

"Andromeda..."

She ignored her.

"_Andromeda_,"

Andromeda whipped round and glared at her sister. "For Merlin's sake, Bella, you called Molly Prewett a 'fat little gerbil' and she cried. Alright?"

"_Molly_ Prewett?! There's a _sister_?!"

Before Andromeda could silence her, Professor Creedence was out of her seat and was marching over to the Slytherin table. Bellatrix grimaced.

Professor Creedence stopped in between Bellatrix and Narcissa, leant closer to her, and spoke at her. " My office, Miss Black. Tonight."

"That's a bit inappropriate, isn't it, Professor?" drawled Iago.

"Be quiet, Mr Greengrass, or you'll be joining Miss Black in detention."

"You're giving Bellatrix detention?" asked Jesper, astonished.

Bellatrix could not speak. She sat fuming.

"I certainly am. Now keep quiet, Miss Black, or it'll be a week's detention." Professor Creedence turned and ambled back up to the teachers' table, where one of the new teachers asked her what had happened.

Bellatrix was stunned.

"Wow. You've got detention with a mudblood. Your father will be so pleased."

"Greengrass..." Bellatrix seethed. "You can be sure that when the feast arrives, I will pour my scolding cup of hot chocolate all over that bald head of yours and watch your scalp peel off."

Further down the bench, she received a low chuckle. She lent up on the table and peered down the bench. A few seats away from Andromeda was a copper-haired, dimple-faced boy. Rodolphus Lestrange. The smirk from his laugh still etched in his face.

Bella fell back into her seat quickly and shielded her face with her thick black hair.

"Bella?" whispered Cissy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, shut up."

"You look unwell."

"I'm fine, now _shut up._"

Bellatrix felt her face burn. After her conversation she'd had with that insipid old crone of a grandmother, she knew that the next few years at Hogwarts would be very uncomfortable indeed. It was not difficult to guess Irma Black's intentions when she requested that Bellatrix get to know the Lestrange twins. She'd had very few encounters with The Lestranges, but she knew that Rodolphus was arrogant. Bellatrix hated arrogance. Similarly, his brother Rabastan was a gloater. He was also oily and menacing. Bellatrix could at least give credit to Rodolphus for being so self-centred that he fussed greatly over his appearance.

"Zabini, April!" called McGonagall.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The small first year came tearing down the aisle to her new table, where she slipped into a seat between Jesper Goyle and Ruthie Nott, another first year. Bellatrix sensed allies being made by her sister, whose homesickness could made her vulnerable to irrational comradeship. That's what their mother had warned Bellatrix about. As mountains of food appeared before their eyes and the feast began, Cissy began chatting happily with April Zabini and Ruthie Nott. Bellatrix made a mental note to write to her mother and give her the girls' names. She'd be able to dig up more information about them and potentially spare Cissy from any undesirable acquaintances.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

The feast was over in an hour. Martine Pleasance, a seventh year Slytherin, was eager to demonstrate her authority as the new Head Girl and so barked orders at her House to direct the first years safely to the common room.

"Bellatrix Black!" shouted Martine as Bellatrix began to take a detour away from the flowing stream of Slytherins. "Where do you think you're going?"

Bella rolled her eyes and turned round slowly. "I need the loo. Fancy tagging along?"

Martine scowled at her. "You're meant to be taking the first years to the common room."

"Why? I'm not a prefect."

Martine smiled. "No. You're not."

"In that case, you know I'm far too irresponsible to be taking the first years for walkies."

She turned back round and walked off, victoriously listening to her friends jeering at Martine.

Another year at Hogwarts, another year of sneaking around. Bellatrix had a lot to be proud of, but her term-time treat was the one thing she kept hidden. She would always keep in hidden. She would use secret passages, tip-toe, be inconspicuous...

"Oi, Black!" called a voice from behind her. Bellatrix groaned loudly and turned around. She knew it wasn't Martine anymore. This voice was male.

An infestation of Gryffindors stood in a clump at the other end of the corridor, all glaring at her. They were headed by Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

"Can I help you?" asked Bellatrix, sounding deliberately bored.

The twins approached her angrily. Gideon was tugging their red-faced sister along behind him by the wrist.

"We were going to try hard this year," began Fabian.

"Good for you! It's about time you actually achieved something at this school."

Fabian rolled his eyes. "We were going to try hard to put up with you and your gang of letches. However, you've let us down pretty quickly."

"Oh, diddums. You know, I make it a rule of mine never to set my expectations too high-"

"We saw that you have another younger sister at Hogwarts now. You must be very worried for her."

Bellatrix balked and blinked, stunned. "My dear orange peers, did mine ears deceive me or did I just hear a threat escape your lips?"

"No," said Gideon quickly, while his twin shifted his weight uncomfortably. "We're just surprised that you could be so cruel to _our_younger sister when you know what would happen if we were to do the same to yours."

"Go nowhere near my sister," warned Bellatrix.

"Stop being evasive," ordered Gideon. "and apologize to Molly."

"'Excuse me?"

"You heard us. Say you're sorry."

"You're sorry."

"_Bellatrix..._"

"Fine!" she snapped. She looked squarely at Molly Prewett, who was short, ginger and mousy. She almost shrinked as Bellatrix leant down so that her face was mere inches from hers. "Little Molly Prewett, I am very sorry for calling you a fat little gerbil."

Molly inhaled and smile uncomfortably. "That's alright."

"Were you upset?"

Molly shrugged. "A little bit."

"Aw... were you embarrassed?"

Molly went bright red and nodded.

"Does your appearance bother you, then? Does it eat you up?"

Bellatrix was suddenly dragged backwards by the collar of her robes and shoved well away from the teary-eyed Prewett girl.

Fabian was in her face like a demon. "I should hex you right here and now, in front of everyone."

"Shouldn't we go on a date first?"

"Fuck off, Black."

"M'kay."

Bellatrix sauntered away in pursuit of the astronomy tower. It was never occupied on the first day back after a long holiday. People were always gossiping away in their dorms like the superficial, two-faced gargoyles that the majority of students were.

The astronomy tower was very high up. Curse her lack of exercise over the holidays.

By the time she was at the top, she was exhausted.

"Bella?" called a voice.

"It's me," Bella replied in a wheeze. "Where are you?"

Janina Macmillan, the shy and mentally-fragile Ravenclaw, emerged from the shadows, her platinum hair glowing as brightly as the moonlight and her huge eyes practically watery at seeing Bellatrix again.

"Good summer?" Bella deadpanned, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Janina smiled pleasantly. "I put my Mummy in hospital."

Bella raised an eyebrow. "How come?"

Janina cocked her head to the side. "I was practicing a mobility charm. I moved her across the room, but I left two of her ribs behind."

Bella rolled her eyes and approached her friend. "Well at least it wasn't you. You'll get yourself killed one day, you lunatic."

"Lunatics are the most imaginative people and, bizarrely, the most sympathetic."

"Whatever."

Bella found herself fighting the urge to run to her. It worried her. A month stuck in a house with a mother wound up like clockwork and a ghost of a father had taken a toll on her. That was something she hadn't expected.

"How was your summer?" asked Janina.

Bella looked out over the railing to the grounds. The water of the lake was choppy and sparkled.

"Very disappointing. Plus, I have something to tell you."

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_A/N- Thank you for reading._

_Please review/favourite/follow for chapter updates._

_N x_


	4. Spaces and New Faces

**2nd September 1968**

Chapter Three: Spaces and New Faces.

Andromeda and her classmates were back, as though they'd never been away, in their dusty and gloomy classroom. There was a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher though, as there had been every year for a long time. Some of the more insipid girls of Andromeda's class were giggling, whispering and fiddling with their hair. Andromeda paid them no attention. Instead, she opened the letter that had arrived for her earlier in the day. It was tricky business finding privacy in the Slytherin dungeons. Andromeda was grateful for the new teacher's imminent arrival. He was like an unwitting antelope approaching a pack of hungry hyenas.

_Dear Andromeda, _

_Your father and I had to find out from Sigmund Gamp that Narcissa had been sorted into Slytherin, which was embarrassing for us. Tell Narcissa that we shall be having words with her at Christmas. But also, please-_

"WOOF! WOOF!"

"Fuck off!"

"WOOF! aaWOOOOOOOOOO!"

"FUCK OFF!"

Doreen Shunpike had entered the classroom, late as usual.

Doreen Shunpike was Andromeda's only friend. She'd become so by being brave enough not to run away from Andromeda's scary sister in first year. Inevitably, Doreen and Bellatrix despised each other. Bellatrix was nasty, with a vicious temper and cruel eyes. Doreen was ugly, with matted hair and piano teeth. Bellatrix was bad-tempered. Doreen was vulgar. Bellatrix was a whore. Slag. Cocktease. Doreen was a gutter-rat. A creature. A dyke. It was Doreen who started Bellatrix's nickname. _Snake_. Because of Doreen, people hissed at Bellatrix in the corridors. It was Bellatrix who started Doreen's nickname. _Dog_. Because of Bellatrix, people woofed and howled at Doreen. This five-year war had lead to people nicknaming Andromeda too. _Puppy. _She'd be lost and alone without the Dog. The Dog protected her from the predators. And yet, for some reason, The Puppy wouldn't stop playing with The Snake.

"Greta fucking Gamp..." growled Doreen as she threw her bag on the floor and squeezed onto the bench beside Andromeda. "One day, she's gunna push me over the edge and I'll curse her straight into the hospital wing. Who's that from?" Doreen started to read the letter over Andromeda's shoulder.

"My mother. Funny you should mention Greta. She's owled her father with news of my sister's Sorting in the space of twenty four hours. How very strange."

Doreen rolled her eyes and turned round to face the back, where girls were still howling and woofing. "CAN'T MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, CAN YOU, GRETA! HOW'S YOUR OLD MAN?"

"_Doreen_!" Andromeda hissed, grabbing her friend's cloak collar and turning her back round.

At the same time, the doors to the classroom rattled and swung open. Sunshine from the corridor lit up the centre aisle.

Ted Tonks, a lanky fair-haired Hufflepuff boy, ran in carrying an enormous stack of text books, which swayed as he moved. The pile buckled. As they began to fall, Ted practically dived at the teacher's desk and the books came crashing down onto it. Most of the class laughed as Ted went bright red, gathering the books up again.

"Settle down, please, class," said an unfamiliar, deep, soothing voice.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of Ted Tonks piling up textbooks.

Then, a slow rhythmic tapping sound echoed around the room, like a ticking grandfather clock. Andromeda watched the shadows. From within them, a tall, skinny fair-haired man emerged. Andromeda guessed him to be barely forty, but he wore thick-framed glasses and a tweed suit and hobbled down the aisle with the help of a wooden walking stick.

In a way, he resembled Ted Tonks: fair curly hair, long neck, bony.

"Sweet Merlin, that's him!" whispered Doreen.

"A little bit more light, I think..." decreed the man. Even Andromeda, who liked to think she was not as shallow as most other girls in fifth year, felt her insides turn to jelly a bit.

The man flicked his wand in the direction of the windows and the shutters prised open, letting sunlight flood the room once more after the doors shut. Everyone groaned for a second, then fell completely silent.

The man reached the front of the class and turned round to face the students.

"Good morning, class," he said.

"Good morning, Professor..." the class hesitated.

"Professor Fogget. Archibald Fogget. I'm your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Well, at least there was somebody pleasant to look at... and listen to.

Professor Fogget moved to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk.

"Fourth year is notoriously dull for those who prefer the practical elements of this art," he explained as he began writing his name on the board. "I'm afraid I cannot be held responsible for your Repetitive Strain Injuries obtained by your note-taking."

Some students groaned.

"Sir?" called a boy from the other side of the classroom.

"Yup?"

"Was you a Hufflepuff at school, Sir?"

It was Brian Peverell who'd spoken. A few of his cronies were sniggering. He too was stifling a grin.

Professor Fogget turned round. "What makes you think I was a Hufflepuff?"

Brian shrugged. "Just guessing."

Professor Fogget raised an eyebrow and put down his chalk. "I was a Slytherin, actually."

Brian Peverell's nostrils flared. Andromeda guessed he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.

"Anyway, back to the lesson. We'll be using the school's theory text books this week so there'll be no need to bring your instruction books. Mr Tonks will hand them out."

Ted Tonks grabbed a pile of about ten and rushed past Professor Fogget to distribute them.

"Thank you, Mr Tonks. Now, when you get a book, turn to page 103 and copy down the title."

"Sir?"

"Mmm?"

Brian Peverell was persisting. Only this time, he looked a little reluctant to ask his question.

"Um, nothing. Don't worry."

Professor Fogget sighed. "Very well. Has everybody found page 103 yet?"

"Sir?"

Andromeda and Doreen gave each other bored looks as Professor Fogget groaned and faced the bunch of Slytherins again.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently. By the way he spoke, Andromeda was under the impression that he was not comfortable with losing his temper.

This time, it had been Donald Zabini who'd spoken this time. Brian Peverell was sitting beside him, red in the face from having been dismissed from duty.

Donald Zabini was looking particularly daring. "Why d'you have a cane, Sir?"

"It's not a cane, it's a walking stick. I use it because I have a bad leg."

He hesitated. He looked around the room purposefully. "Any more questions?"

"Did you get injured?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Professor Fogget inhaled sharply. He gave Donald a hard stare. He swallowed thickly.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Zabini, Sir. Donald Zabini."

"Then tell me, Mr Zabini, do you enjoy Hogwarts?"

Donald peered around the room, uncertain of the question. Many other students were doing the same thing.

"Er, yeah. It's alright."

"Proud parents? Good set of friends?"

Donald raised his head and stuck his chest out. "Yeah, of course."

Professor Fogget smiled sadly. "Then I can't possibly expect you to understand."

Donald sank back into his seat, defeated but none-the-wiser. For some reason, Professor Fogget's enigma made Andromeda like him.

"Everybody start reading page 103. Our first topic for this term is The Imperius Curse."

Andromeda was at the front, so her book was delivered quickly. While the others were being passed around, she had a few seconds to read the rest of her mother's letter.

-_keep an eye on Bellatrix. Her behaviour this term is paramount. Also tell her that we expect to hear good things about her. Your grandmother will not be persuaded to back down. Your father and I, too, are resolute._

_Enjoy your first week back. Reply soon._

_Mother. _

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

At lunchtime, the Great Hall's usual seating arrangement had changed. First years were claiming spots along their House's tables, and older students were therefore being usurped. Bellatrix and her friends had a new position at the very end of their table, nearest the doors. To Bellatrix's dismay, however, they were now sat inches away from Janina Macmillan.

Bellatrix tried to appear casual, sitting languidly on the bench with Jesper Goyle and Iago Greengrass sat beside her, arguing about nothing that Bellatrix cared about.

"I dare you. Go on, I dare you."

"I told you, no!"

"You're too chicken," said Iago to Jesper in his snide, nasal voice that had always made Bellatrix's skin crawl.

"I bloody well am not! I'd do it in a heartbeat but it's just too much effort."

"Rubbish," droned Iago. "You just don't want to make a fool of yourself."

"It's not that."

"Yes it is."

Whilst they quarrelled, Bellatrix eyed the gaggle of Sixth years over in the far corner of the hall. It was mostly compromised of Gryffindors, with the Fabian and Gideon Prewett being the centre-piece of the ensemble. Their dumpy little sister, Molly, smiled gingerly around her as people made jokes. They were responsible for most of the noise and laughter in the hall. Of course, that was inevitable. The Prewett brothers were like Gods in Gryffindor House. Now that their sister had been confronted by _the notorious _Bellatrix Black and survived, she was a hero too. They were the talk of the school. They were not what interested Bellatrix though. She was watching Janina Macmillan with a keen eye. She was sat at the edge of the Prewett bubble, smiling pleasantly as everyone ignored her. The sight made her twitch.

"I'm ten times as capable as you are, Greengrass. I just don't fancy wasting my time with such nonsense..."

"Goyle, when will you just accept that you are too bloody chicken?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and leant back, looking at them from upside down. "Whatever you two are droning on about, it sound very boring. Please desist."

Iago and Jesper gave each other cold stares before Jesper grabbed his school bag, yanked it open and rummaged around in it.

"Now what are you doing?" asked Iago.

Moments later, Jesper pulled out a Potions exercise book and a short, stubby pencil. "I'm doing your bloody dare. I'm signing up."

"For what?" asked Bellatrix.

"Quidditch tryouts."

He ripped the corner of a page in his exercise book and began scribbling something onto it.

Bellatrix leapt to her feet and whacked the pencil out of his hands with her own book. "Don't even think about it."

"Why not?" Iago scoffed as Jesper looked startled. "It'll do him some good to challenge himself."

"Challenge himself?" Bellatrix echoed. She turned to Jesper. "Don't bother, Goyle. It's embarrassing."

Jesper wrinkled his nose. "What do you mean?"

Bellatrix sat up and spoke loudly. "Quidditch players are the ones who have no hope in succeeding academically. They turn to it as a last resort."

Several people laughed as the Prewett brothers glared at Bellatrix. However, last year's Slytherin team were far from impressed either.

Iago and Jesper exchanged a confused look, though Jesper did look slightly relieved that Bellatrix had spoken up.

"That's a pile of rubbish, Black," scoffed Iago. "Quidditch players at Hogwarts go down in history. It's prestigious."

"Not in _my _circle. It's a waste of time. Quidditch players have the wrong ambitions and no brains. Now, do you want to be associated with the wrong sort? Or are you content to shut your fucking trap?"

Iago flinched and remained silent. Satisfied, Bellatrix smirked and sat back down, facing the crowd of Prewett worshippers again.

"If anyone should sign up for Quidditch tryouts, Iago, it should be you. You don't have much of a reputation to lose. Wasn't your great-uncle Patrieth Greengrass a... what was it... a muggle sympathiser?"

Jesper snorted a laugh and Bellatrix grinned.

Iago scowled at the back of her head. "Tell me, Bella, how's your Uncle Alphard? I hear he's doing just fine in muggle London..."

As her back was turned, Iago could not see Bellatrix clench her teeth. "I don't know what you're talking about, Greengrass. I don't know anybody by the name of Alphard."

Iago scoffed. "Yeah? Of course."

Bellatrix whirled round to argue, but someone ran in to the Great Hall calling her name.

"Bella! Bellatrix!"

In ran a short, skinny girl with perfectly bouncy hazel-coloured ringlets springing around her shoulders, pinned here and there in an obsessively fixed way.

"Adelaide, my dear cousin!" smiled Bellatrix, not making any move to get up. "You've neglected to come and find me all day. How was your Summer?"

Adelaide Rosier was sickeningly pretty. At least, most people thought she was. She resembled a china doll in the plastic colour of her eyes and her perfectly shiny curls and her porcelain skin. It drove Bellatrix mad and it made her stomach roll. She never cared much for Cousin Adelaide, who was clingy and about as subtle as a brick when it came to climbing her way up the social ladder. She was tactless and ditzy, but she was also maliciously well-informed on the wizarding world and was guaranteed a good place in society when she was older.

Adelaide beamed at Bellatrix, who hadn't noticed the timid little minion cowering behind her.

"My Summer was wonderful, actually," said Adelaide proudly. "We went to America. Daddy has some very wealthy clients over there. We stayed with them on their estate."

"Spiffing," said Bellatrix dryly. "Mine was excellent, thank you for asking. We actually saw our father at one point. Cissy even spoke to him."

Adelaide flicked her hair behind her shoulder. "You simply _must _thank your parents for me. They sent me fifty galleons on my birthday. It was so thoughtful."

"Oh, I will."

Adelaide smirked, looking horrifically more smug. "I was ever so sorry to hear about your little predicament. I had no idea it was happening so soon."

Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"Bella?" hissed Jesper from beside her. "What's she talking about?"

"Maybe nothing will come of it," shrugged Adelaide. "But everyone knows that you're engaged to-"

"_Rumours_," sighed Bellatrix. "Honestly, we've been back at Hogwarts for two days and the rumour mill has started up again. No prizes for guessing who started _that _one..." Bellatrix looked over at the Prewetts. The others followed her gaze.

"The Prewetts?" asked Iago doubtfully.

"After that nasty little run-in I had with their sister yesterday, it's no wonder they're trying to get back at me."

"Ooh!" interjected Adelaide. "Is it true that Molly Prewett stamped on your foot?"

"What?! No!" Bellatrix leapt to her feet. She could feel blood burning in her cheeks.

"Wow..." said Jesper. "The Prewetts are full of it today... maybe we'll have to pay them a visit."

But before Jesper, Iago or Bellatrix moved towards the Gryffindor table, Bellatrix noticed someone she hadn't seen before.

From behind Adelaide, put stepped a younger girl. A tiny thing that Bellatrix almost didn't recognise.

"Who is this?" she asked, pushing Adelaide aside with the back of her hand. A small girl with dark hair and glasses stared wide-eyed at Bellatrix, not saying a word.

"Surely, this is not little Cassandra Rosier..."

Cassandra nodded vigorously.

Bellatrix leaned in, inches away from her face. The face was a beautiful thing to Bellatrix; everything was there. Bravery and fear, challenge and surrender... her little cousin was terrified.

"Congratulations, Cassandra. I saw you at the Sorting. You're a Slytherin. You must be very proud."

Cassandra smiled weakly and nodded.

Bellatrix cocked her head to the side. "You must share a dorm with dear Cissy. Is she well?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. Do tell her that Bellatrix remembers her from when we used to speak."

Cassandra gulped and nodded again.

"You and Adelaide can sit with me," she slithered an arm around Cassandra's shoulders. She felt the girl shudder and was about to make things very uncomfortable for the Rosiers, but the doors to the Great Hall were flung open.

The noise died, leaving nothing but the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall. A tall girl with waist-length dark hair and caramel-coloured skin sauntered into the room. She was flanked by three people: Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and a tanned dark-haired woman in a tight snake-skin power suit, looking as though she was sucking a sour sweet.

"That girl," whispered Jesper. "She's not wearing her House colours."

"That's because she doesn't _have _any House colours," Adelaide whispered back. "That's Leonora De Luca. She's new. Her ancestors founded the Guido de Luca school in Italy thousands of years ago. Her parents are loaded."

"What's she doing here?" asked Bellatrix.

"No idea," replied Adelaide.

The girl, Leonora, looked round at the students, all of whom were staring at her. Leonora seemed unfazed. Dumbledore was gesturing to the hall and saying something to her mother, who was nodding.

"Dumbledore's showing them around," Jesper noticed. "Is she coming here?!"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "She's wearing Hogwarts robes, Goyle, what do you think?"

Dumbledore gestured towards the door and the group filed out. Standing by the doors were Barty Crouch and Rodolphus Lestrange, who were watching Leonora with raised eyebrows. As soon as she passed, Rodolphus looked up, straight at Bellatrix.

Bellatrix scowled at him and slumped back down into her seat as the noise picked up again.

"That Leonora girl," began Bellatrix, distracting herself. "Does she have a brother?"

"No idea," shrugged Adelaide. "Why?"

Bellatrix knew Rodolphus was still looking at her. It may have been the light, but he didn't look all too pleased to see her. Bellatrix hoped it was due to the cold look she had given him.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_Dear Mother, _

_I've spoken to Narcissa and she promises to write to you as soon as she has the time, which sounds like she doesn't care but she does. I just think she's worried about looking too homesick. She seems to be settling in well and has already made some friends. I wouldn't worry. _

_I haven't seen Bella today but I'll try and find her tomorrow morning. I'll tell her what you said but I can't promise she'll understand your meaning. I hope she's not in trouble. _

_We met our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher today. He's about your age and he was in Slytherin when he was at Hogwarts, so you might know him. His name is Archibald Fogget._

_All my love, _

_Andromeda._

Archibald Fogget... that was familiar indeed...

Druella folded the letter in half and pressed it to her chest. The only sounds in the house were the ticking grandfather clock and the house elves below the stairs, preparing Druella's dinner. Her husband would be dining with colleagues tonight. Just like last night.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

_A/N: Thank you for reading. _

_Next chapter will be up shortly, I hope. _

_N x_


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